


I'm Blessed, Yes

by Herlilacskies



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herlilacskies/pseuds/Herlilacskies
Summary: Peter is purposefully creepy.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	I'm Blessed, Yes

Stiles heard his window open and peered over his shoulder. He sighed heavily, sat his pen down with apprehension, and turned around. Peter was lounging on his bed already, something akin to a lecherous grin on his face. It was disturbing and Stiles just wanted to get him out and on his way as soon as possible. He crossed his arms and sighed once more. “What are you doing here, Peter? I don’t like you. Why are you here?” He leaned forward, head tilting, “If Derek sent you—”

Peter laughed and waved a hand insouciantly, cutting him off. “Of course my nephew didn’t send me,” he replied, smiling and chuckling lightly. It made Stiles’ stomach leaden with anxiety and dread. He really didn’t like Peter. “It’s nothing  _ malicious _ ,” he insisted. He sat up and settled at the edge of Stiles’ bed, maybe a foot away from Stiles now.

Stiles was not going to back up, he wasn’t a bitch. Fuck Peter and his creepiness. He made everyone uncomfortable on purpose. “What,” he ground out.

“Go out with me,” he said.

Stiles’ visage slowly morphed from apprehension to confusion. “Wha—Where,” he asked in confusion, brows pinched. Peter absolutely gleamed before Stiles’ confusion quickly turned to anger and alarm. Then he glared, hoping he didn’t smell as freaked out as he was. “Get out.”

The werewolf smiled and leaned forward, a presumptuous hand advancing toward Stiles’ vulnerable sweatpants-clad thigh. “Come on, Stiles.”

Stiles was up and his back was against his bedroom door in an instant, breath coming in faster and faster. “Get the fuck out, Peter.” What if he didn’t get the fuck out? Stiles’ phone was on his desk. He kept his eyes on Peter.

When the  _ much older _ man finally got up and said, “Whatever you want, Stiles,” Stiles nearly dropped to the floor in relief right then and there, but Peter was still in his room so he simply emulated one of Derek’s scary faces. Tried to is probably more accurate. Peter chuckled and left back through the window.

Stiles shot to his desk and dialed Derek’s number, mind reeling and feeling slightly traumatized. What the fuck even was that? Peter was gross and way creepier than Derek ever could have been. Stiles glared at his phone. Why the fuck wasn’t Derek answering his  _ emergency _ call? Where the fuck was he? Goddamned werewolf.

After two more calls went to voicemail, Stiles slammed his laptop shut and grabbed his keys, heading to Derek’s.

  
  


Stiles was banging on the loft’s door because apparently Derek could lock it now. What the fuck even? If he could have locked it this whole time he totally could have stopped them from having the fucking rave that one time. Derek was weird.

It took at least five minutes for the guy to open the door. What an asshole. Stiles was seriously traumatized and Derek had the audacity to make him fucking wait. What an inconsiderate asshole.

Stiles brushed passed him and went to the werewolf’s bed. He stretched across the mattress and glared up at the ceiling. “I tried calling you, douchebag.” He glared at Derek before turning back to the ceiling. “I cannot deal with your uncle, Derek, and it’s not like I can even get a restraining order because— _ oh yeah _ —he’s dead.” He sat up and gave Derek a baleful look. When Derek only closed the door and continued to say nothing, Stiles implored, “Well?”

After a moment, Derek came forward, making his way toward the bed. He crossed his arms and stopped just in front of Stiles. He sighed and said, “What did Peter do this time?”

“He fucking asked me out,” Stiles burst, angry and annoyed and a little embarrassed. “And then he fucking tried to  _ touch me _ —with his fucking  _ ha _ —”

“What,” Derek growled.

Stiles’ wild gesticulations died down and his eyes darted to Derek’s conspicuously blank face. “He—uh—asked,” Stiles said, wincing, “—me out.”

“Did he touch you,” Derek ground out slowly. Stiles thought he might have been able to hear the grinding of teeth if not see how tensed the man’s jaw was.

Stiles shook his head stiltedly before it turned frantic. “No, no,  _ no _ . God no. There was no deflowering of the Stiles,” he insisted. “I said he  _ tried _ to touch me, Derek. I ran the fuck away and told him to get the fuck out. He did. Eventually.” He shook his head minutely. “Then I called some asshole who had the  _ gall  _ not to fucking pick up.” He glared at Derek’s obliviousness. “That’s you, Derek. You’re the asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek replied, eyes downcast. “It was my fault.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I fucking knew you sent him. Asshole.”

“I didn’t,” he started angrily, then stopped and calmly continued, “I didn’t  _ send him _ , Stiles. Jesus.” He came and sat beside Stiles and shook his head minutely. “He did it—He told me—” Derek groaned and shook his head, pointedly looking away from Stiles. “He told me if I didn’t ‘play’ with my,” he winced and continued, “favorite toy, then someone else  _ would _ and I couldn’t get mad when they...played—with him.” He looked at Stiles finally.

Stiles stared back dumbly, trying to analyze the creepy fucking bull shit Peter spit out. His favorite toy? What the fuck does that even mean? What toy could Derek—Played?  _ With him _ ? “Did your uncle just try to  _ molest _ me because you have a fucking crush, Derek?” Derek’s eyes darted between Stiles’ as he nodded almost imperceptibly. Stiles was quiet for several long seconds. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he exploded, hands flailing around, hitting and smacking Derek. “You fucking—”

Derek let that continue for several moments before grabbing Stiles by his wrists and asking, “Are you done yet?”

Stiles huffed and pulled his hands back, but said, “Yes.” After a few moments of tense silence, Stiles said, “So.”

“So,” Derek nodded, both were still looking anywhere but the other.

Stiles glared at a chip in the concrete and let out a harder, “ _ So _ .”

“So,” Derek said again, glancing at Stiles.

“Oh my god, Derek, just tell me if you like me,” he burst out angrily, finally turning to the man.

Derek’s eyes widened and he floundered. “I—I thought—”

Stiles glared furiously. “I swear to the God’s above, Derek,” he threatened, beyond frustrated and pissed off.

“I do—I do,” he rushed.

“Really,” Stiles said, suddenly all smiles, smelling of joy, and impossibly closer to Derek now.

Derek nodded dumbly, asking, “D—Do you?”

“What do you think, dumbass?” And then they were kissing.

Derek leaned forward, deepening the kiss, and started pushing Stiles back.

Stiles’ brows came together as he pulled back from Derek’s pretty and spit-slickened lips. “Woah, dude, calm down,” he said, one hand pressed against Derek’s abdomen. Stiles shamelessly felt him up as he said, “I’m not gonna have sex with you just because you said you liked me. Asshole.” He added, “I’m not that easy.” Then he was surging up and kissing the guy one last time before he was pulling away, pushing Derek off from him, and heading to the door. At the door, he turned back to Derek’s pout and said, “Come on, Sourwolf, you have to woo me. I’m a romantic.” As he walked out he bellowed, “I know, it’s tragic!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and such.


End file.
